My Lonely Valentine
by Drusilla Maxima
Summary: The Valentine's Ball is only days away, and Hermione is dateless.  Malfoy, the bane of her existence, thinks it's a hilarious joke to repeatedly, publicly ask her to go with him... but is it truly a joke?
1. Chapter 1

**On February the Twelfth**

**Bring your lover and yourself**

**Romance to be had by all**

**At Hogwarts' annual Valentines Ball!**

Hermione glowered at the loud, pink sign that had unfurled over the Great Hall.

"That's a horrible rhyme," Hermione muttered over her chicken and mash. "Twelfth and yourself don't rhyme. Beyond which, do we really want to encourage students to have _lovers_?"

"Oh, stop being so down, Hermione," Ginny said. "I think it'll be wonderful. We'll go together - it'll be great, you'll see. Harry will take me, and Ron will take you, and maybe we can even share a horse and carriage. Harry and Ron can afford it now, since they have jobs. It'll be wonderful."

Hermione only grunted in response. She and Ron hadn't been particularly romantic lately. In fact, they'd had a rather rocky Christmas. After she'd opened her gift, Ron admitted he'd simply re-gifted a set of nice pens he'd received from a charity tombola.

It had not gone over well, especially since she'd spent days looking for the vintage Quidditch robe she'd given him for Christmas.

The sound of a haughty, dismissive voice cut through her self-pitying thoughts.

"Granger!"

Hermione sighed and tried to ignore Malfoy's voice.

"Granger!"

Her eyes flicked his way for a half-second. He was _standing_ on his chair at the Slytherin table, looking her way with a contemptuous smile plastered across his slim face. _La dee daa, I can't hear you, Malfoy_, she thought as she poked at her salad.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, M... Miss Granger," he called.

She tried to continue ignoring him, but it was impossible with him just _standing_ on the bench, _staring_ at her.

"Malfoy. What. Do. You. Want."

She finally looked his way.

Honestly, she didn't understand him. She and Malfoy had been almost amicable with one another lately - at least in private - but in public, he still behaved like a boorish, childish, arrogant prat.

"Would you be my date for the Valentine's Ball, Miss Granger?" He laced his voice with saccharine sweetness and shot her an utterly fake smile.

A group of Slytherins sent hisses and catcalls her way.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

A group of Gryffindors muttered insults toward the Slytherin table.

"Well, don't ever say I'm not capable of charity." Malfoy snorted; his friends gave him high-fives.

"Ignore him," Ginny hissed.

"I don't intend to give that piece of rubbish one second of thought. Even that's more than he's worth," she snapped back at Ginny, making sure Malfoy heard every word.

"What did you say, Granger? What did you just say?" he squawked.

But she had already stood up, leaving her full plate of food, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>Brewing potions always calmed Hermione down. Focusing on methodically chopping, crushing, and stirring took her mind off rampant emotions. As one of the senior seventh-years, she had access to the Potions mixing room as part of her final year thesis, and she found herself ducking into the empty laboratory whenever she needed a moment's peace.<p>

The only problem was that several of the other seventh years _also_ had access to the lab.

Including one Draco Malfoy, who had now lowered the wards to the lab and entered it, not twenty minutes after Hermione.

"Hello, Granger," he said. "What are you up to?"

She ignored him. Lately, they had come to what she believed was an uneasy truce; they would talk about politics, or potions theory, or school gossip, while they drudged away at their potions projects after-hours.

Obviously, given his behaviour in the Great Hall, she'd been wrong. He was still the same old arsehole as before, especially if given an audience.

"Brewing a potion," she replied tartly. "We are, if you'll notice, in a potions mixing room."

"Hmph, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he replied. "Fight with the Ginger Weasel?"

_To hell with this_, she thought_, I'm not __spending the next hour listening to him goad me while I try to work.  
><em>

She lifted her wand, shot a cleaning spell at the cauldron, and snatched up her book bag. Without replying, she walked toward the door.

"Are you all right?" Malfoy asked.

She glared his way. "Thank you for the concern, Malfoy, but I really don't need your _charity_."

"Don't tell me you're annoyed at what happened over supper, Granger. It's just a bit of a lark! Have a sense of humour."

She rolled her eyes. "Good-night, Malfoy."

"Hey, wait," he called out.

She ignored him and headed straight for her bedroom. There was no way she'd give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her upset.

* * *

><p>Hermione lay on her bed, reading a dog-eared copy of <em>Pride and Prejudice<em> and trying steadfastly to remove any thoughts of Ron or Malfoy from her mind. She could hear raised voices from the Gryffindor common room, but ignored that too - all she wanted right now was to be left alone.

The door to the girls' dormitory swung open. Ginny stepped in, her expression a mix of distaste and confusion.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Ginny, if it's about the Astronomy assignment, can it wait until later? I've had a horrible day."

"Erm... it's not." Ginny sat on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Something odd just happened..." her voice trailed off, and she chewed her lip with obvious puzzlement.

"Ginny, what is it?"

"Well... Draco Malfoy just came to the portrait hole."

"_Our_ portrait hole?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Yes." Ginny's brow furrowed. "I told you it was odd."

"Let me guess. He came to us to do a little end-of-day harassing?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's so aggravating."

"Actually... it was really strange. He asked if you'd come back to your room, and told me to keep an eye on you." Ginny's puzzled expression melted into a mischievous smile. "I told him, 'Malfoy, as long as you're not around, Hermione will be just fantastic.' The prat skulked off after that."

Ginny giggled and Hermione couldn't help but smile with her. But there was something inexplicable and worrying about Malfoy, of all people, making a trip to the Gryffindor portrait hole to ask after her. Slytherins stayed in their dungeon. Gryffindors stayed in their tower. They just didn't go _visiting_ one another.

If she'd piqued his interest, it could only mean trouble.

The puzzle of Malfoy at Gryffindor Tower kept her awake long after the other girls fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Hermione couldn't help but pay more attention to Malfoy the next day. She kept her head down over her breakfast and watched him through her curtain of hair, hoping to spot some hint of what he was plotting.<p>

Malfoy kept quiet at breakfast; he didn't even _look_ at her when they were assigned as each others' partners in Charms; and over lunch, his only contact with her was a muttered _excuse me_ when he accidentally brushed past her on the way out.

She had a free period in the afternoon, when most of her housemates had Divination, and she took the opportunity for a walk. _Alone_.

Who, of course, did she discover on the Quidditch pitch but her towheaded thorn-in-the-side?

She knew the exact moment when Malfoy spotted her because he stopped flying in languid, low circles. After a moment spent hovering, he began to race around the pitch, forming showy figure-eights and loops in the air.

For a Slytherin, his showboating had no subtlety whatsoever, and she had no desire to feed his ego. She kept walking toward the gate, steadfastly ignoring him.

Of course, Malfoy just couldn't allow himself to be _ignored_.

She could hear him following her on the broom. And, when she refused to turn around and look at him, he flew ahead, so she could directly see him, and soared into the sky. Again, she ignored him.

He dove. Fast, hard, and directly for where she was standing.

She _knew_, on some logical level, that he wouldn't hit her; the Malfoy of last year might have, but the Malfoy that had emerged from defeat was a more pragmatic, pensive man, despite what he let on.

But it was a full-size Firebolt, carrying a six-foot-tall wizard, throttling toward her at full speed. She reacted instinctively, as any sensible person would've. Her hands flew protectively to her face. Her eyes squeezed shut. A frightened yelp escaped her throat.

She felt the swoosh of air as he swooped past her, and then the warmth of a nearby body. Then silence. Her heart raced; she couldn't quite bring herself to uncover her eyes.

"Granger, it's all right." She felt his hands curl around her wrists, tugging them from her face.

She leapt back as if burned. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

He seemed to be searching for words, and despite her anger, she could see he regretted the trick. Pink had suffused his cheeks, and he scuffed his boot against the grass.

"And you have the nerve to come to Gryffindor Tower and ask if _I'm _all right?"

He looked up at her. His brow furrowed; she recognized it as the same nervous expression he got before a Quidditch game. "Granger, look..."

The sound of raucous laughter interrupted them. Divination, it appeared, had gotten out early, as the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team were fast approaching. Malfoy jumped back, his eyes darting between his friends and Hermione.

"Oi, Princess," Zabini shouted from across the pitch, "he's not _actually_ interested in you. He don't go for your type. Thought you'd have figured that out after eight-odd years."

Zabini and Goyle pounded fists and laughed loudly. Malfoy backed slowly away from Hermione and snatched up his broom from the ground.

"I can't understand why you surround yourself with the most witless excuses for wizards in this whole school," she told him quietly, watching his friends hawk wads of spit onto the ground and make farting noises in Hermione's direction. "I'm going to leave now. Maybe you can try to run your broom into someone expendable... I'm thinking Goyle, if only because he'll cushion your blow."

Malfoy let out a snort.

"You were supposed to take offence to that," she muttered.

He shrugged, and only she could see the quirked half-smile on his thin lips. She turned away from him and began to walk back to the castle.

"Eh, Love, don't you want to stay and watch some real men in action?" Zabini shouted.

She turned back and looked at each slowly, giving each the full force of her contemptuous sneer. "I would, but I'm afraid I don't see any."

Zabini took a step forward, and his hand moved to his wand pocket. "What you need, Granger, is a proper man to put you back in your place. You think you're something special because you're Potter's pal, but you're still just a mangy, filthy Mud-"

"Zabini!" Malfoy's voice cut through diatribe. "On the pitch. Now."

Hermione didn't turn back, but she could hear the other boys grumbling at Malfoy. Despite his inexplicably mercurial temperament, she reminded herself to thank Malfoy later for reining them in.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> This story's done, I just don't want to post one gigantic mega-chapter. Better to release it in easy-to-read portions, right?


	2. Chapter 2

The potions lab seemed more charming the longer Hermione spent in it. Its scent reminded her of burning incense at Sunday Mass. When the lab was empty, the air felt refreshingly cool and damp, like a cave. The dim lanterns made it feel even more like a grotto or a chapel. The only sound was of the metronomic clink, clink, clink of her spoon against the edge of the cauldron as she stirred her latest potion.

Malfoy arrived. He nodded in her direction, then began unpacking his parchments, quills, and ingredients at the station across the room.

"Thank you for yesterday." She didn't look at him as she spoke. "You didn't have to tamp down Zabini."

"He was being an arsehole," Malfoy replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, you didn't have to say anything, so thanks."

"If he'd taken you on, he'd probably have ended up castrated. The Slytherin Quidditch team would've been down our best beater," he said with an artificial nonchalance to his voice. "It was completely selfish, Granger."

She watched him as he shrugged just a bit too offhandedly; as he pretended to organize his papers; as he schooled his mouth into a detached, cool smirk.

"You're a bad liar," she finally replied, then turned back to her potion.

She could feel eyes on her back, and avoided turning around. But she could feel him keep staring for several minutes, and finally, she turned to look.

"What?"

"You're remarkably honest with me, Granger, given our past history."

She rolled her eyes. "I have past history with nearly every Slytherin in this school."

He shot her an exaggerated frown. "I rather thought I held a special place in your heart. You never punched anyone else in the school."

She stared thoughtfully into her cauldron for a moment before replying. "I once punched Ron. But he had really bothered me."

Again she could feel his eyes linger on her, the silence of his unspoken questions hanging between them. After a few minutes, she could sense his eyes leave her, but she was still acutely aware of his presence just a few metres away; the faint smell of fresh grass clinging to his clothes from the Quidditch pitch; the rhythmic sound of his knife slicing through ingredients; the sound of pages being turned in his book.

Neither looked at each other. Neither spoke. When he left an hour later, he didn't say good-bye.

* * *

><p>Hermione had owled Ron about the Valentine Ball on January 27th, the day the sign had gone up in the Great Hall.<p>

_Ron, there's a Valentine's Ball on the 14th. Can you come as my date? It'll be from 7 in the evening. Let me know. H._

It had taken him four full days to respond; the owl had arrived at the girls' dormitory window at four in the afternoon, right after classes finished for the day.

_Only if you're FINALLY apologizing to me for getting annoyed over those pens. I thought they were a pretty good gift and I got in quite a lot of trouble from Mum for re-gifting your Christmas present. I'll go, but I'll probably duck out early - the ball is the same night as the Cannons - Kestrels quarter-final, and a load of the Auror trainees are meeting up at my training partner Susan's match party. It won't be any fun for you though, lots of Quidditch talk and scrumpy, so you may as well stay at the school after I go. Ron._

Ginny could tell something was off by the face Hermione made as she read the letter.

"This can't be good," Ginny murmured.

"Read this." Hermione handed the letter over the table.

"Oh Ron." Ginny frowned across the table. "Shall I have a word with him?"

"Don't bother." She toyed with the letter, then cast a quick banishing spell on it.

"You don't seem that angry," Ginny said quietly.

Hermione didn't feel angry. She just felt - tired. Tired of making the effort. Tired of Ron half-arsing it. Relationships weren't supposed to feel this way, not at eighteen years old. She felt like she and Ron were an old married couple whose spark had long since died, but kept flogging the dead horse because everyone else expected them to. What would it be like in two months, if they kept it up? In two years?

She pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill, scrawled a response, and attached it to the owl's leg. Ginny looked at her expectantly.

"I'm done," Hermione said softly, watching the owl fly off into the distance.

"Did you break it off?"

Hermione nodded. She felt tears prickle in her eyes - first, for the uncertainty it wrought. Was her friendship with Ron finished? How would Ginny now treat her? How would Harry?

But far worse, there was something heartbreaking about knowing that her first genuine love, the one that had seemed so innocent and fated at the beginning, hadn't made it. That her stupid little ideas of a charming townhouse in London, a golden retriever and two pretty redheaded children was never going to be more than a teenage fantasy. Her eyes prickled.

She glanced over at Ginny with uncertainty, but Ginny just smiled sympathetically.

"I think you'd have had to be blind not to see the problems between you and my brother. If you're meant to be, you two will work it out." She sighed and gently rubbed Hermione's arm. "Come on, let's go down to supper and distract you for a bit. You're supposed to get your Arithmancy text back from Anthony. You wouldn't let Ron keep you from your books, would you?"

Hermione frowned.

Ginny smiled. "I didn't think so."

* * *

><p>Supper, surprisingly, did distract Hermione.<p>

At least for a while. Anthony Goldstein had slipped surreptitiously into the Gryffindor table across from Hermione, and they had spent most of the meal chatting about their newest Arithmancy assignment. Most of the other Gryffindors, bored by weighty academic pursuits, ignored their conversation.

"Hello, Granger," Malfoy said, sauntering toward the Gryffindor table.

He was greeted by several dozen Gryffindors muttering "Go away, Malfoy," and "Eff off, Ferret." As usual, he seemed deaf to any criticism.

Goldstein leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, "He's had it out for you lately, hasn't he? Prat."

"Yes, he seems like my shadow." Hermione sighed. "It's becoming quite annoying."

Malfoy stood behind Goldstein, his mouth set in a fakey, treacle-sweet smile, and his arms crossed over his chest. "Don't start letting Goldstein get any ideas, Granger. I'm sure he thinks the two of you would make the most precious little couple."

The Slytherins snorted; his goal, as always, was to elicit an emotional reaction for his audience. It worked, to a degree - Goldstein blushed scarlet. Hermione didn't see it; her full attention was focused on Malfoy.

"Though I'm sure you'd never let anything ruin the grand storybook romance between yourself and the heroic Ginger Weasel, would you, Granger?" Malfoy continued. "Everyone in the Wizarding World is just counting down the days until the wedding and the inevitable fourteen children."

She couldn't break the gaze between her eyes and his silver ones. There was something different about Malfoy this time. His lips smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He schooled his voice into a teasing lilt, but it was laced with a hard, bitter edge. It cut to the quick.

I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I am absolutely positively not going to cry because of stupid, insensitive, attention-whorish Draco Malfoy, she told herself. Why does he make me feel so much worse than anyone else can?

"Congratulate me, everyone, I've done the impossible! I've rendered Granger speechless," he crowed.

She felt Ginny's hand rest on her arm - she recognized it as a silent, comforting gesture.

"You okay?" Goldstein whispered.

"Not particularly, but I will be." She stood up and collected her bag. "I'm going for some fresh air."

As she hurried out of the Great Hall, she overheard Ginny's clipped voice snap, "You're utter shite, Malfoy."

What she didn't see was the guilty expression that crossed Malfoy's face when she bolted from the room.

* * *

><p>She heard Malfoy's footsteps long before she heard his voice, but didn't turn around to look. Once again, Malfoy had ruined her solitude - even here, next to the lake, where few ventured even on a sunny afternoon.<p>

"I thought you'd be in the potions mixing room. I looked for you there," he said.

"Which is exactly why I avoided it," she replied.

She heard him step closer. "I looked for you in the library and at Gryffindor Tower."

"My, you're persistent." She still stared out toward the lake. "Couldn't you have found someone else to harass today? There are a dozen other seventh year Gryffindors that you could hate with equal fervor."

"I don't..." He sighed. "Never mind. I didn't come here to harass you."

"Well then go away, because I'm not interested in dispensing homework advice or chatting about the news."

He didn't leave. She could sense him standing, silently, a few metres behind her. Instead of acknowledging his presence, she kept looking out across the lake, watching as the sky darkened and the lights of Hogsmeade began to twinkle in in the sunset.

Finally, he spoke. "Is it true, then?"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"Come on, Granger, don't be obtuse." She could sense he spoke through gritted teeth. "Weasley. Is it over between the two of you?"

She had no desire to chat with anyone - least of all Malfoy - about the fresh wounds of her broken relationship. Had he really ventured all around the school just to rub salt into it? Even Malfoy didn't usually seem that malicious.

But in the past day, he'd surprised her with his bitterness.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, Malfoy, but yes. You and your Slytherin pals can rejoice, because one more pureblood male's been spared from the fate of a mixed marriage and is free to date any of the inbred halfwits you're all related to." Her anger flowed freely now. "Are you happy? You finally got a reaction from me. It's just a pity that your friends weren't here to get a lark out of it, too. Maybe you can pensieve it, and you can all laugh together..."

"Shit, Granger." His voice was almost a whisper; she was startled into silence. "I'm sorry."

There was a long, awkward silence. He walked into her field of vision and knelt a few metres in front of her. His long, spidery fingers raked through the grass, and his gray eyes stayed locked on the ground.

"For what?" she finally asked.

"Huh?" He looked up at her as if she'd surprised him out of deep thought.

"What. Are. You. Sorry. For."

His face flushed; she could see it even in the dim light. "Erm... well, Weasley. I'm sorry you broke up with him, but these things happen..."

His voice had taken on that artificial nonchalance she'd heard so many times before, and he tossed his blond hair back nonchalantly. Fake, she thought.

"You know what I've realized, Malfoy? You're constantly lying." She spat it out. "Why? Why can't you ever be honest? You even lie when your friends aren't around to impress. I don't think you're even capable of honesty anymore. That's why all of your so-called friends are complete tossers."

She had angered him - she could see the hardening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. Malfoy looked like his father when he was angry, but she felt no fear, even as he tore a handful of grass out of the ground and clenched his fist around the blades and dirt.

"Honesty isn't always a virtue, Granger." His voice was low. "You want me to be honest? Fine. I think Weasley's pathetic. I have no idea why you ever thought he was worth your attention. You should be glad you got rid of him before he tied you down with his stupidity and fecundity."

Her jaw dropped. Malfoy's voice was laced with complete revulsion. Their eyes locked. She couldn't look away. The air between them felt like an elastic band pulled to its breaking point, as if something had to happen; a fluttering, unfamiliar tension unfurled in her abdomen.

She could only logically explain it away as an odd type of anger that only Malfoy could elicit.

His hand stretched out, as if he intended to touch her arm, but then he froze. The hand darted back. He broke eye contact. Instead, he stared past her, toward the castle in the distance. He stood, still refusing to meet her gaze.

His voice was quiet now, and held no more anger. "I hate Weasley, but I don't hate you, Granger."

And he left.

She sat next to the lake well into the night.

After several hours, she had come to the conclusion that she no longer hated him, either.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Two more chapters to go! I might even post them faster if I get a review or two... (yes, I'm resorting to blatant bribery).


	3. Chapter 3

A warm hand shook Hermione awake.

"Hmm?"

She opened her eyes and looked into Ginny's brown ones. "Good morning, sleepy! It's eight thirty already."

"How did I sleep in so late?" Hermione muttered. "I've missed breakfast and I've got Transfiguration in thirty minutes. Oh no... I don't want to be partnered with him all morning..."

"Don't worry, I brought you toast and an apple. And don't worry about Transfiguration. Malfoy won't be an arsehole to you if Professor McGonagall is around." She grinned. "So where were you all night? You were quite the popular girl. Anthony came around looking for you... and so did Malfoy, but I told him to eff off. Did he find you? He was pretty persistent."

"Unfortunately." Hermione sighed and clipped back her hair. "It's really weighing heavily on my mind... I don't know why, because he wasn't being that obnoxious. I ended up sitting alone at the lake for a few hours after he left."

"Oh! Sorry, I told Anthony that you probably wouldn't mind some company after that whole Ron thing yesterday."

"Not Anthony." Hermione corrected, "Malfoy."

"Malfoy found you when Goldstein couldn't? That must've taken some effort." Ginny's brow furrowed. "God, Malfoy's getting weirder and weirder by the minute. I wonder if he's gone crackers? Pansy Parkinson told me he's spending all day in the library reading, and he refused to take her to the ball."

"That doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's just sick of Pansy. Or more likely, he's already got a date."

"Does he?" Ginny asked.

"How would I know?" Hermione replied as she yanked on her black robe.

"Well the two of you talk a lot, holed up down there in the dungeons."

"How do you know that?" Hermione searched in vain for two matching socks in her drawer. "I never mention Malfoy unless absolutely necessary."

"Yeah, but Pansy's my partner in Divination." Ginny smiled wryly at Hermione's frown. "She's actually nice enough to me - I suppose because I'm a pureblood. She never talks about anything except Malfoy. Poor girl - he doesn't seem to feel the same way."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not particularly sympathetic. And considering how he talks about her, she's not in the running to become the next Madam Malfoy. He says she's thick as two short planks." She slammed the drawer shut. "Argh, I cannot find two matching socks!"

Ginny tossed Hermione a pair; she smiled back gratefully. As Hermione yanked them on, Ginny surveyed her with an oddly curious expression.

"So to answer your earlier question, Pansy told me that Malfoy frequently mentions you - enough that his friends took him aside for an intervention, and told him he's becoming a bit too civil with muggleborns."

Hermione froze; normally she would laugh at the idea, but after Malfoy's odd behaviour next to the lake, she found nothing amusing about the story.

"And... how did he react?" she asked uncertainly.

"I have no idea - I assume badly. Maybe you should ask him." Ginny winked. "Knowing Malfoy's behaviour lately, he'll hunt you down and call you names by lunchtime at the latest. Although how the Slytherins can interpret that as civility is beyond me. Here... have your toast, get your shoes on, and let's go."

Hermione did as Ginny commanded, and Malfoy was forgotten - for the moment.

* * *

><p>Headmistress McGonagall didn't notice that Hermione was four minutes late for class. The students didn't even look her way when she tiptoed into the only unobtrusive seat left free - the seat directly in front of Malfoy's.<p>

He leaned forward so she could hear his whisper. "You all right, Granger? You look awful... like you've been dragged through a hedge."

"Gee thanks, Malfoy, you're looking handsome as well," she hissed back sarcastically.

"Ah... I didn't mean it like that." He paused, as if wanting to say something more, and she could feel his eyes staring at the back of her head.

"What?" she demanded, smoothing a hand over her head. "Is there something wrong with my hair?"

"No, it looks nice."

She spun around, looking for evidence of sarcasm, or a double meaning. However, Malfoy's face steadfastly ignored her, instead focusing intently on the contents of his quill box.

"Are you all right, Malfoy? You look a little feverish."

He looked up, slowly, from the pencil case. His silver eyes pinned her - she felt like a butterfly nailed to a display case. Her lungs felt like they weren't capable of breathing in enough air, and she felt her own face warm under his gaze. His eyes really were quite expressive; the irises were an unusually metallic shade of gray, like finely hammered pewter.

"Granger," he whispered, "do you ever think that maybe, if we'd been born to two different families, we could have been friends?"

She stared back at him for a moment. "No. No I don't."

"Oh," he turned his face downward; a flicker of disappointment crossed his pretty features.

She felt the need to clarify.

"I've never disliked anyone for the circumstances of their birth, Malfoy. Including you. I'm friends with people who treat me well. I'm not friends with people who have are angry, manipulative, and deceitful. I choose my friends based on merit, not blood."

"Easy to do when you have many friends to choose from," he muttered.

"And it's easy to have many friends to choose from when you're honest and kind." Her brow lifted. "Maybe you should try it. I think you'd be surprised."

Her eyes locked with his once again, and she felt that familiar overblown balloon feeling in her chest. He seemed so very close to her, close enough that she could smell the pine-scented cologne he wore; close enough that she could see unshaven stubble on his chin.

"Granger, I want..."

The moment was interrupted by Professor McGonagall's sharp voice.

"Mister Malfoy! Miss Granger! I will assume you are hotly debating the current lesson. Perhaps you can demonstrate it for the class."

Hermione shot Malfoy a questioning look; he shrugged and mouthed _no idea_. Hermione, uncharacteristically, hadn't heard a word of the lesson. She caught Ginny's eye across the room. The young redhead was mouthing _thirty four_. While Malfoy attempted to bullshit an excuse, Hermione flipped to the correct page.

"If you'll give me a minute, Professor..." She skimmed the section - ah, right, she'd read this section months ago. "I'm happy to transform Malfoy into a bird."

"What?" Malfoy exclaimed.

"Had you been paying attention like Miss Granger, you wouldn't be so surprised, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps we should find someone else for Miss Granger to attempt the spell upon..." the Headmistress suggested.

"No, no, it's fine," he muttered. "Go ahead."

She lifted her wand and swished it around as the book suggested. Malfoy's arm began to twist, to branch off into tiny red feathers, his slim elbow thickening into a wing -

- and then it stopped, right at the shoulder. Malfoy's arm had turned into an enormous red-feathered wing, but the rest of his body remained unchanged. A nervous twitter rippled through the classroom, and Hermione's face turned red. Malfoy shot her an _are you kidding me?_ look.

"As I _just_ told the class, there is an error in paragraph two that prevents the spell from completing properly. It is very clear to me, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, that you were _not_ listening to my lecture whatsoever." The Headmistress sighed. "Stay after class, please. The rest of you are dismissed."

As the students filed out, most snorted at either Hermione or Draco. Hermione's face flamed; Draco just looked vaguely uncomfortable. Only Ginny passed by with an openly worried look on her pretty face.

Once all the students had left, the Headmistress turned to the two of them. "I am quite disappointed with you, Miss Granger."

"I'm so sorry, Headmistress," she replied.

McGonagall didn't reply. She ooked between the two of them with a furrowed brow and a mother-hen frown.

"Is there anything you two would like me to know?" she asked hesitantly. "I won't judge if you need someone to listen. I understand there have been some rumours in Slytherin house, Mister Malfoy, about..."

Malfoy's cheeks went red, and he interrupted her quickly. "Rumours, nothing more."

"And there have been a few occasions when you have both disappeared together..."

She looked expectantly at Hermione, who felt a bit lost by the whole conversation. Hermione turned with a puzzled expression to Malfoy, looking for some clarification. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Sometimes you're so thick, Granger." He shook his head. "Don't worry, Headmistress, Granger's as pristine as the new-fallen snow. Wouldn't be caught dead with an ex-dark-wizard like me. Surely you know I've asked her to the ball repeatedly? And every time, she turns me down flat. Isn't that right, Granger?"

Hermione didn't feel annoyed at him this time; she just found him silly. She rolled her eyes. "That's _exactly _right, Malfoy."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Well. I won't keep you in detention. I would rather see civility between old rivals..." Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to be scrutinizing Malfoy's face in particular. "You're dismissed."

Hermione glanced over at Malfoy's still-deformed arm - or rather, wing. It seemed that the Headmistress had forgotten about it.

"Ah, Headmistress, maybe you could fix him up..."

With a swish of McGonagall's wrist, the bright red feathers were replaced by his slender, black-wool-clad arm. With that, they both grabbed their book bags and hurried out the door, shutting it firmly on the way out.

Malfoy cringed. "That has to be the most painful conversation I've ever had with a professor. And that includes the time that Snape asked if I was 'romantically interested' in Crabbe."

Hermione couldn't help it - she began to laugh. Malfoy smiled wryly. "Glad to see you take some amusement out of my discomfort."

"What was she on about a rumour in Slytherin house?" Hermione asked him, though she already had some idea.

She noticed the blush that suffused his cheeks, the way his wry, easy laughter stopped and his eyes flickered downwards.

"Ah... that. It's nothing. It's Pansy. She spread a rumour that there's something going on between us." He shrugged. "She says it's because you're a mu... muggleborn, but really, she's just jealous. I've never had a girl who was..." He stopped abruptly.

She finished it for him. "A friend?"

He paused for a moment as they walked together down the corridor; she could see him freeze for just a moment at her implication that they were friends. His face betrayed no distaste, thankfully.

"Yes," he replied simply.

They walked together until they reached the end of the corridor. Hermione's next class was to the left; she knew Malfoy's was to the right.

"I've got Muggle Studies," she said awkwardly.

"I know," he replied. "I'll see you later. Will you be in the potions lab after supper? I wouldn't mind running a few questions by you."

"I can be."

He nodded; an easy smile spread over his lips. "See you then."

* * *

><p>Hermione sat across from Ginny at dinner. She looked around before she sat down, hoping to spot Malfoy, but she couldn't see him anywhere in the Great Hall. A flicker of disappointment shot through her.<p>

"_What_ was _that_ in Transfigurations today?" Ginny hissed.

"What do you mean?"

"_You_ said you didn't want to see Malfoy in class. Then, when you finally make it in there, you sit down next to him and start whispering and giggling with him. You don't listen to a _word_ of the lecture - and that, for you, is bizarre behaviour - and you make a _mistake_ in the middle of a transfiguration."

"I don't think it's not _that _odd," Hermione mumbled.

"Malfoy didn't even get _mad_ when you turned half of him into a parakeet, Hermione!"

"We just... I think we're kind of friends now."

Ginny frowned. "Hermione... this is the same guy who called you a Mudblood for four years. The same guy who was making fun of you in the whole Great Hall a couple of days ago. The same guy..."

"He apologized, you know."

Ginny was startled into silence.

Hermione spotted Malfoy entering the Great Hall. His silver eyes met hers, and she caught the faintest dip of his head in acknowledgement. She mentally noted that Pansy and Blaise purposely shifted so he could not sit next to them; he instead settled beside the less-hateful Daphne Greengrass and one of the younger Pucey boys.

She didn't notice Ginny's eyes trailing hers; Ginny's frown once she realized that Hermione was staring at Malfoy.

"You know, Anthony's really disappointed he asked Padma to the ball already," Ginny mentioned, watching Hermione's reaction. "He asked her before you'd dumped Ron."

"Hmm..." Hermione murmured. "That's nice..."

Her eyes were still on Malfoy, who was listlessly pushing his food around, and did not seem interested in talking with his housemates.

"Anthony would've rather gone with you."

Ginny scanned Hermione's face for a reaction. Nothing.

"Well, he and Padma get along well enough, and she's actually interested in him," Hermione murmured, still watching Malfoy. "So it should be more fun for him anyhow."

"Hmm," Ginny muttered.

Hermione realized she had emptied her plate. Her stomach fluttered - she didn't quite know why - and she decided against dessert. With a muttered excuse about schoolwork, she left for the potions mixing room.

Two pairs of eyes saw Malfoy stare at Hermione as she left; two pairs of eyes noticed Malfoy bolting his food and hurrying out after Hermione.

Ginny headed straight for the owl shed.

Pansy, on the other hand, sat quietly and filed what she had just seen for later use.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>One more chapter to go (I think - I'm doing a full edit on it before I post). As usual, reviews are like the gasoline to my writing engine (or something like that... maybe not the best metaphor).


	4. Chapter 4

The hard backbeat of muggle rap reverberated through the walls as Hermione walked toward the potions mixing room. Why bother going to the ball? Ginny and Harry would try to make her feel included - which would make her inevitably feel like a third wheel. She'd distract Anthony from his date. Her singleness would attract whispers and stares. And worst, she'd probably see Malfoy with some inbred, waifish pureblood with perfect hair and teeth.

It would be odd, being in the potions lab without Malfoy. For the past week, he'd been a near-constant fixture - and not unpleasantly so. The conversation came easily now; once or twice, she'd even elicited a burst of laughter from him.

She mused on the small details he'd shared with her - that he wanted to become a potions master (though his father discouraged such pedestrian pursuits); that his mother was trying to contract his marriage through a matchmaker (fearing he'd choose someone unsuitable on his own); that he acutely missed his best friend Vincent (despite, admittedly, treating Vincent poorly while he was alive).

A pang arced through her heart at the thought of Malfoy at the dance with another girl. It was undeniable now; she _liked_ him. Really liked him.

She pushed open the door to the potions lab -

- and was met with the sight of Malfoy, leaning over a bubbling cauldron. He wasn't dressed for a ball. His white shirt-sleeves had been rolled to the elbows; he wore a pair of rumpled black pants; his robe had been casually draped over a nearby chair.

He looked elegant and beautiful like this, relaxed and focused on his work.

"Malfoy?"

He turned around, leaned against the potions bench, and smiled.

"Granger? I didn't expect to see you here."

"You didn't expect _me_? Aren't you supposed to be at the dance with Pansy?"

He snorted. "Pansy, if you hadn't noticed, is not my favourite person at the moment." He paused. "I'm surprised to see you skipping out. Goldstein would've dropped Padma Patil in an instant if you'd asked him."

Hermione frowned at him.

"I know, i know, Granger, you're too nice to leave Padma out on a limb like that." He stirred his potion. "But still, you'd have had lots of options. You could've picked pretty much any brawny moron."

His voice held a trace of bitterness. She didn't answer him, just watched as he methodically stirred his potion. A little niggling voice inside her whispered - _you like the fact that he's here; you like that he isn't there with some other girl; you like monopolizing him yourself._

"So why didn't _you_ go, Malfoy?"

He stared at her and cocked his head. "The girl I wanted to go with didn't want to go with me."

"Really? Who turned you down?"

He kept staring. His eyebrow lifted incredulously. "Is that a joke, Granger?"

She looked back at him with confusion.

"I asked you to that ball at least six times and you turned me down flat _every_ _single_ _time_." He didn't try to hide the bitterness now. "You even _agreed_ when I said you wouldn't be caught dead with me."

"It was a joke... you laughed... you said it was charity..." Hermione's words and thoughts were a tumbled mess.

"Like you would have seriously considered going with me," Malfoy snapped.

"Of course I didn't consider it! You don't even like me, Malfoy!"

He slammed his hand down on the counter and turned to her with blazing eyes.

"I don't _like _you? Then why the hell have I spent the past two months constantly in the potions lab? Why the hell have I spent full days in the library, sitting at the table next to yours? Why do I keep talking to you in class, even though it's cost me nearly all of my friends?" His voice went up a notch. "I like you plenty, Granger, and that's my biggest problem. In fact, I think I _like_ you better than any other woman I've met."

"But... I'm a mudblood. You watched as your Aunt tortured me..." she replied weakly.

"I never said it was smart of me to like you. In fact, it's probably the dumbest thing I've ever done." He sounded disgusted with himself. "It's not as if I intended it, Granger, so you can stop making me feel like a moron now."

_Malfoy likes me. He likes me better than any other woman he's ever met. He wanted me to go to the ball with him.  
><em>

Malfoy looked exhausted and sad. He rubbed his hands over his face.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she knew she should mutter polite excuses and leave. That would be the smart thing to do.

Instead, she stepped closer and reached for his wrists, just as he had once done to her; pulled his hands from his face.

"It's all right, Malfoy." She hesitated, "Draco."

The sound of his first name startled him. His silver eyes locked with hers.

"What if I had said yes?" she asked softly. "Think about how your friends would react. Your family."

Still he didn't look away. "I never had to decide because even though I hoped, I knew you'd never say yes..."

He licked his lips; Hermione realized that she was still gripping his wrists tightly; that they stood barely an inch from each other, close enough that she could feel his body heat, his hot breath on her forehead. He smelled like pine and woodsmoke. His eyes were dark with what she suddenly recognized as want.

"Hermione." His voice came out a whisper. "You're so beautiful..."

He leaned forward. She realized he was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. The feeling she had previously characterized as anger, she now realized, was pent up lust.

And then his mouth was on hers. Thin, warm lips pressed hard and insistent against her own. His lips parted, and hers mimicked his. His tongue snaked around hers. He tasted sweet, a combination of the treacle tarts at dinner and a herbal, anise taste that was his own. An arm clamped around her waist, pulling her body tight and needy against his. A pleasured groan escaped his throat and reverberated in her mouth.

_Bang!_

The door to the potions lab burst open. Cacophony ensued.

"What the hell is going on here?" Ron bellowed.

"Draco, no!" Pansy wailed. "Oh, God, he's _kissing _her!"

Draco broke away from her mouth, but kept his arm tightly wound around her waist. Ron, dressed in blue velvet dress robes, and Pansy, in a frilly pink gown, stood in the doorway, gaping with undisguised horror.

"What are you doing here, Ron?" Hermione asked softly, still shell-shocked by her sudden, delicious entanglement with Draco.

"I came to escort you to the Valentine's Ball," Ron said through gritted teeth, "since my _sister_ let me know that Malfoy was putting the moves on _my woman_. And I see she was right!"

Pansy let out a tear-thickened hiccup. "What are you _doing_, Draco? What are you doing with that _mudblood_?"

Hermione saw Draco's lip curl with distaste at the foul word; Hermione fought the urge to squeeze him tighter.

Malfoy's eyes flickered between Pansy and Ron, and she caught the uncertainty in his silver eyes. On some level she expected him to go back to "arsehole Malfoy" now that they were no longer alone.

Draco was silent for a moment; then he looked into her eyes, his expression serious.

"Hermione, do you want to go with me to the Valentine's Ball?" he finally asked.

There was no mockery in his voice, no sarcasm. Hermione examined his face for any hint of deception, but saw only the nervousness of a boy asking a girl for a date.

She smiled. "Yes, Draco. I would."

They left hand-in-hand, leaving Ron and Pansy speechless and alone in the potions mixing room.

* * *

><p><strong>An Epilogue<br>**

**Twelve Months Later**...

The bride stood at the front of the reception hall, telling a group of guests about how she had met her husband.

"There we were, all alone in the potions lab, dumped in the most _spectacular__ly _awful way - I mean, everyone knows how Granger and Draco _behaved_ at that Valentine's Ball," Pansy exclaimed. "But Draco had forgotten a Loquacious Liqueur brewing on his workstation. It exploded all over me and Ronniekins. We spent twelve hours talking about everything imaginable..."

She sighed wistfully and shot Ron a saccharine-sweet gaze. Ron blew her a kiss from the other side of the room.

"I think I'm going to vomit," Hermione muttered.

"Now, be nice," Draco whispered in her ear. "You should be happy for them."

"No, really, Draco, I think I'm going to vomit," she said.

"Oh. Sorry." He passed her a Stomach-settling Draught. "That's the last one. We'd better go home."

Hermione shivered at the thought of portkeying or apparating back to London in her current nauseous state.

Draco hesitated. "I wish we could go to the manor. It's just a few blocks away."

"Your father would _love_ that. 'Hello, Dad, I'm just hoping to stay over with my knocked up girlfriend. Remember Hermione? When you met her, you called her a gold-digging mudblood whore?' Great idea."

"Well...we're married now." He paused. "And he'll be a grandfather."

"That's _really_ not going to change his mind." Her frown deepened as she caught the disdainful glare of an elder Parkinson. "There are just some people who are never going to accept me."

"Accept _us_," Draco corrected gently. "Let's just say good-bye to our friends and apparate..."

Draco's voice died away, as did his smile. The vast hall had gone icy-silent. All eyes, including Draco's, were locked on the door.

Hermione immediately saw why. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood in the open doorway. Their impeccably tailored black robes reminded Hermione of Death Eaters. Their icy expressions betrayed no emotion.

Pansy quickly recovered her composure and dragged Ron to the door to exchange stiff smiles and polite words. Draco's hand slid to his wand pocket.

"Do you want to speak to them?" Hermione whispered.

"Yes," Draco replied quietly, "but I won't. _They_ disowned _me_."

His eyes remained on his parents as they stonily made their way through the room, nodding toward the young Slytherins they recognized. It took a moment before Hermione realized that they were approaching her and Draco.

"Son, I..." Lucius began, but stopped when his eyes caught Hermione's midsection. He stared for a moment before hissing, "Is she _with child_?"

"Obviously, Lucius," Narcissa whispered.

Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable. Narcissa's lip wobbled.

"How have you managed to even _survive_ the past ten months, Draco?" Lucius demanded. "You've taken no money from the vault, no gold, no stocks. I waited, yet you never returned for money."

"I work, Father. Hermione has a job. We're fine."

He and his father stared each other down like two tomcats sparring. Hermione spotted at least a half dozen friends, hands on their wands, ready to step in if the elder Malfoy got out of hand.

"Can you not even _feign_ civility for appearances' sake?" Lucius asked quietly.

Draco's lips twisted into a hint of a smile. "No."

"I came hoping that you would see reason." Lucius's voice came out clipped and controlled. "But your behaviour is repugnant - openly revelling with your impregnated mudblood mistress. Let us leave, Narcissa, before we are embarrassed further."

Narcissa did not move. Her eyes lingered on Hermione's hand. Hermione realized that Narcissa had spotted the slender gold band on her finger. Her damp eyes flickered to her son.

"You've married her."

"Yes."

"You don't _deny_ it?" Lucius interrupted.

"No."

Lucius looked ill; Hermione had never seen him so obviously unsettled. "Come, Narcissa, we have been humiliated enough... we are becoming a _spectacle_."

"No!" Narcissa yanked her arm away from her husband's grip. "Draco, I don't agree with this. You know my feelings about... _their _culture. But you obviously intend this to be permanent."

"Narcissa..." Lucius hissed, "he will tire of her, and we can contract him to someone suitable..."

She shot him a contemptuous look; Lucius fell silent.

"It will take me some time, but I can accept your choice." She looked down at the floor. "I _have_ to accept it. I miss you. I want to know my grandchild."

"I will _not_ accept this!" Lucius hissed.

"And you don't have to," she replied, "but you don't speak for both of us. People change. I suppose I will have to as well."

She looked exhausted, and if she'd been someone else, Hermione would have handed her a cup of tea and patted her hand reassuringly.

Maybe someday.

"I _will_ be there for the birth of my first grandchild." She said softly. "And, Draco, your father may have warded you out of the Manor, but I think you'll find that he never barred you from the guest house."

Narcissa's eyes met her husband's, as if daring him to contradict her; he did not.

"I'll see you later, Draco. Perhaps even tomorrow morning." She nodded toward Hermione. "And I will see you as well, Madam Malfoy."

And then they left quickly and uncomfortably, their eyes on the floor. The awkward stares from the wedding guests subsided, slowly giving way to dancing, drinking, and eating.

"You know, I think that potion worked," Hermione said, "I'm feeling better."

"Me too." Draco smiled. "Let's dance. It's Valentine's, after all."

With that, he led her quietly onto the dance floor amongst their friends, where no-one paid them any attention whatsoever.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> So that's all there is, folks. As with all my stories, I tweaked this to death, and that's why it took forever to finish. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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